User blog:Squibstress/Till A' the Seas Gang Dry - Chapter 4
Title: Till 'A the Seas Gang Dry Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Warnings: Explicit sexual content Genre: Romance,Erotica,Travel Published: 17/06/01 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. 4. Venice: San Marco & Il Racconto del Calamaro Gigante “You look a bit peely wally.” Minerva smoothed Albus’s tangled hair out of his face. He had just awakened with a groan and put a hand to his head. “We did have a lot of wine last night,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a fist. He blinked several times before her face came into focus. “How do you look so bright this morning? You had almost as much as I did.” “I’m younger than you. Also, I took a bit of Hangover Potion earlier this morning.” “I need to get my hands on some of that.” He stretched his legs, grunting as his knees cracked. “Also something for the aches and pains. We were a bit … unrestraineed last night, and, as you so kindly pointed out, I’m not as young as I used to be.” She kissed his cheek and patted his knee. “I’ll get it.” She got up and found his bag, rummaging through it for the potions. Albus watched her. “I didn’t … I didn’t hurt you? Last night?” She turned to look at him. His brows were knitted in concern. “No,” she said. “It was fun.” She found what she was looking for and brought him the phials and a spoon she had Conjured when she’d arisen earlier that morning with a thumping hangover and a deep ache between her legs. It occurred to her that she had perhaps asked too much of him the previous evening. They had broken the bed, after all. She suppressed a smile at the memory “Did you enjoy it?” she asked. He grasped her by the wrist and pulled her down to sit on the bed they had hastily repaired before sleeping. “I think I made my feelings on the matter quite plain at the time,” he murmured, kissing her neck. She gently disengaged herself from his embrace. “Your potions,” she said, holding out the phials and the spoon. He dutifully poured a dose of each and swallowed them, grimacing at the taste. After a moment, his brows relaxed, and he let out a sigh. “Better?” she asked. “Much.” After bathing and dressing, they had a light breakfast of bread, jam, and coffee at the pensione and set out to explore the Rialto market. It was cold, and the last of the morning mist dampened their faces as they walked. Minerva pulled her soft woollen muffler up over her chin and mouth. Albus leant down and whispered in her ear, “I could do a wandless Warming Charm if you like.” She glanced around at the crowded street and shook her head. “Suit yourself,” he said, and she took the arm he offered her. Once over the Rialto Bridge, they found stall after stall of delights both familiar and foreign, offered in a lilting cacophony of Italian carried on great puffs of steamy breath from the vendors crying their wares. The bins of the Erberia were a riot of colours and textures. Pale green stalks of cardoon and bunches of dark cavolo nero competed with purple-headed cauliflower, bright, fragrant clementines and mandarins, and a bewildering array of radicchios for the attention of the shoppers. Stout, black-clad and veiled old women stalked the stands, and despite her lack of Italian, Minerva could hear from their tone that they were questioning the vendors on the freshness of their wares just as rigorously as she’d ever quizzed a class of reluctant N.E.W.T. students on Gamp’s Third Law of Transfiguration. The clean scent of the sea drew Minerva and Albus into the fish market, where they strolled among the stalls, jostled aside by Venetian shoppers engaged in the serious business of vying for the best of the city’s famous frutti di mare. It was almost overwhelming, the variety of items offered—tiny cuttlefish from the Lagoon, scallops, eel, blue sardines, glistening clams … Albus stopped to examine a crate of tiny squid dotted with black ink and nestled into a bed of crushed ice. “Amazing,” he said, picking one up between his fingers and turning it this way and that to examine it. “It’s like a miniature replica of our giant squid.” Minerva laughed. “I doubt our squid would appreciate the comparison.” He put the little cephalopod back beside its brothers. “You know, I’ve always wondered about the giant squid,” said Minerva as they continued their tour of the pescaria. “What have you wondered, my love?” “Where it came from. How it survives in a freshwater loch. It isn’t in Hogwarts: A History or any other book I’ve been able to find.” “Of course, you’ve researched it thoroughly. In your first year, no doubt.” “My third, actually. That was the first time I saw it in the flesh. Rupert Davies had fallen off his broom and into the loch. The squid pulled him out and set him on the shore, which was lucky, as he apparently couldn’t swim.” “Yes, the squid can be quite helpful that way,” Albus said. “But there’s nothing about it in any of the books. It’s as if it’s always been there in the loch.” “Mmm.” Minerva gave him a wary sidelong glance. “What exactly do you know about it, Headmaster?” “Not much, but I have a few ideas.” He walked on ahead of her, stooping to examine a bin of what looked like tiny, grey lobsters. Minerva caught him up and tugged on his sleeve. “And?” “They’re called canoce, apparently,” Albus said, gesturing to a sign, “and they look delicious.” “Don’t be obtuse, Albus. I mean, tell me about the giant squid.” He leant down and kissed her nose, which was red and numb from the cold. “It’s Albert, my dear Victoria. And I’ll tell you about it over lunch. All this seafood is making me hungry.” “It can’t even have gone eleven yet.” “Surely there’s a nearby restaurant that’s open a bit early.” “Oh, no. Not until we’ve done St Mark’s.” Albus pretended to pout. “But you’ve seen that before.” “Not with my husband.” He sighed dramatically. “Very well. Lead on, my dear.” Under the grey, overcast skies, the Piazza San Marco was far less crowded than the last time she’d been in it in high summer before her sixth year at Hogwarts. There seemed to be more pigeons than people, although a small crowd of hardy souls, their breath visible in the chill air, stood in front of the Basilica. Minerva and Albus joined them, looking up at the famous gabled and gilded façade. The quartet of enormous bronze horses dominated the area above the church’s portal, their power and naturalism contrasting with the delicate, stylised mosaic of The Last Judgement below. Albus pointed to the golden winged lion under the statue of St Mark. “It appears the builders were Gryffindors,” he said. Minerva’s answer was forestalled by a voice from behind them. “Oh, thank goodness!” They turned to find a middle-aged man in a grey mac scanning them, a look of hopeful appeal on his face. “I’ve had a devil of a time finding anyone who spoke English. Would you mind terribly?” he asked, holding out a large, squarish camera towards Albus. “We’d like to have a snap of the two of us together.” A younger man stepped up next to him, giving Albus and Minerva a sheepish tip of his felt hat. “I’d be happy to,” said Albus, “but I’m afraid I don’t quite know how to, er …” “Albert is hopeless with a camera,” Minerva said. “I’ll give it a go, if you like, although I can’t claim to be much of a photographer.” “Much obliged,” said the older man, handing her the camera. “It’s dead simple, really. You just point and click that button there.” He took his place next to the other man, their shoulders touching. Both smiled, the younger showing off an array of impressively crooked teeth. Minerva aimed the camera at them, trying to get as much of the church’s façade into the shot as possible, and clicked the shutter button. “Thanks ever so,” said the older man, still blinking from the light of the flash “It’s no trouble,” said Minerva. She handed back the camera. “Where are you visiting from, if I may ask,” the fellow said as he wound the camera. “Near Inverness.” “I thought Scotland, judging by the accent. No points for guessing where we’re from,” he said with a grin. “Somewhere in Yorkshire, I should think,” Minerva said. “Can’t imagine what gave me away,” said the grinning man. “Anyway, thanks for the photograph. If you’ve got a camera, I’d be happy to return the favour.” “We haven’t, but thank you for the offer.” “Well, ta, then. Enjoy the sights.” She looked back at the men as they ambled away. She wondered if they were brothers, friends travelling together, or perhaps a couple. Something about them—how closely they had stood together, the younger man’s shyness—suggested the latter. Her thoughts moved to her friend Amelia and Amelia’s beloved, Marlene. While Minerva didn’t mind having to keep her relationship with Albus discreet, Amelia, she knew, minded very much that she and Marlene had to pretend to be nothing more than “good friends”. Minerva wondered if she, Minerva, would tire of the secrecy eventually. At least here, they could be a little freer. She took Albus’s arm as they entered the basilica’s narthex. The mosaics depicting scenes from the Old Testament were beautiful and impressive, but they were inadequate preparation for what awaited the couple as they passed through the bronze door into the basilica itself. Although she’d seen it before, the interior of St Mark’s drew a gasp from Minerva. The gilded mosaics that lined the walls, ceiling, and domes made her feel as if she were swimming in an ocean of golden light. When the mosaics finally released her gaze, she looked down at the floor. The inlaid marble, with its geometric designs, peppered with depictions of plants and animals, made beautifully clear the inviolable connection between the heavenly realm above and the earthly plane below. They walked the transepts, eyes raised to the magnificent domes above, each golden orb seemingly borne aloft on the shafts of winter light that came through the windows which necklaced the domes at their bases. The chapels in each arm held more treasures—Gothic sculptures, Byzantine icons, and still more mosaics depicting the life of Christ. A small group of camera-wielding tourists had gathered in front of the altar, so Minerva and Albus waited until they dispersed before approaching it. The famous altarpiece, the “Pala d’Oro”, was an intricate maze of delicate colour, emeralds, amethysts, topazes, rubies, and other precious stones vying with the enamelled figures of Christ and the saints for the observer’s attention. “Impressive,” Albus said. “Too much,” said Minerva. “You don’t like all those jewels?” “Gran always said, ‘Enough is as good as a feast.’” Albus chuckled. “The Byzantines didn’t agree with her.” “Clearly.” They spent another hour exploring the wonders of the basilica, which was filling with crowds of tourists, despite the chill weather. When they emerged, blinking, into the bright winter light of the early afternoon, Albus said, “How about a spot of lunch before we tackle the Doge’s Palace?” Minerva’s belly gave an answering rumble. “Yes. Where?” she said. “I’m sure we’ll find somewhere suitable.” They left the piazza and ventured down a series of narrow, crowded side streets. After a few turns, Albus stopped in front of a small restaurant. A battered wooden sign, featuring a bright red crustacean with enormous claws, hung above the doorway. “This looks promising,” Albus said. The proprietor was able to seat them immediately at a corner table. They lunched on linguini with canoce and squid ink. Minerva demurred when Albus suggested ordering a bottle of wine with their meal. “If we start drinking now, I’ll be out by five,” she said. Albus settled for an Italian beer, and Minerva had sparkling water. The meal reminded her of their earlier topic of conversation. “So, tell me about the giant squid.” “I— damn!” A morsel of food had slipped from Albus’s fork to splatter his silk tie with oil and ink. As he blotted at it with his napkin, Minerva looked around the room. The other tables were close, but no one seemed to be paying the couple any attention. She didn’t dare risk drawing her wand from its secret pocket in the bodice of her Muggle suit, but she thought she might be able to manage the spell without. “Tergeo,” she whispered, her eyes and magic focussed on the spot where his fingers were worrying the stain. He looked up at her, surprised. “Did it work?” Minerva smiled, delighted with herself. “It did.” “Thank you.” “You were about to tell me about the squid.” “Yes.” He smoothed his tie and put his napkin back in his lap. “This is just a theory, mind …” “Of course.” “I believe he is an Animagus.” Minerva blinked several times. She said, “But as far as we know, an Animagus is physiologically like the animal he or she becomes. Even if he were an Animagus, he couldn’t survive in fresh water in his squid form.” Albus slurped up a long noodle before answering. “True. If he were an ordinary squid. But the merpeople tell me he is not at all ordinary.” “You can talk to the merpeople?” “Yes. Well, more or less. Several years ago, when it seemed I was in danger of becoming Headmaster after Armando, I studied Mermish. I thought it would be a good idea to forge some closer ties with Black Lake’s colony, given that there had been several unfortunate incidents in the past where students had been threatened if they wandered too close to their part of the lake.” “And what did the merpeople tell you about the squid?” “That he disappears from the loch from time to time.” “Where does he go?” “I don’t know.” A pair of lines creased Minerva’s forehead as she thought. “I don’t see how that changes things,” she said. “He still shouldn’t be able to survive in his squid form in the loch.” “He shouldn’t, but clearly, he does.” Albus finished the last of his linguini and sat back, a satisfied smile on his face. “That hits the spot.” “Now that your belly is full, maybe you’ll actually answer my question.” “And what was that, my love?” “How does our squid—Animagus or not—live in the loch?” “I believe he has been able to Transfigure his Animagus form further to adapt to life in a freshwater lake.” Minerva sat back in surprise. “That would be an astonishing feat of Transfiguration.” “It would.” “How did you come to this conclusion?” “It’s more of a hypothesis, but the fact that he is apparently able to come and go from the lake is suggestive that he has intelligence, will, and magic that are absent even from magical beasts.” “So he transforms and travels about in his human form?” “No. At least, I don’t believe he does. He uses the magical portal in the Black Lake to go to other lakes.” The afternoon was becoming full of surprises. “A portal? You mean like a … like a Floo connection?” “A bit, yes. In fact, the magic used to create the Floo Network harnesses another natural portal that lies under the Ministry of Magic, which is primarily why the Ministry was located where it was. Some very clever wizards found that they could extend a weak arm of the portal across the island of Great Britain using the Gault clay that makes up the portal’s physical environment. Fireplaces that connect to the Floo Network must be lined with this clay and Charmed to create the connection between the two points.” He stopped to take a few more bites of his lunch. The remainder of Minerva’s lunch, however, sat cooling on her plate. She was much too interested in their conversation to think of eating any more. “Floo Powder is made from the same clay,” Albus continued. “Much like a wand in the hands of a person imbued with innate magic, the clay in the powder channels the portal’s magic strongly enough that the magical intention of the user allows him to access the connection to move between Network points.” “And what of the Black Lake?” Minerva asked, eager to get the story of the squid back on track. “It contains the same sort of portal, only it is much more concentrated, and therefore, its magic is harder to control. Unlike the Floo portal, the wizard who wishes to use it must be very powerful and skilled in order to channel it to travel to another point. The strength of the portal under the lake allows for travel across longer distances than the Floo Network, and across large bodies of water. It is the only portal yet identified in the British Isles that allows one to travel to and from the Continent. “I can see why it’s a secret,” said Minerva. “People would be clamouring to use it, since cross-Channel Apparition is so difficult and expensive.” “I doubt whether anyone who couldn’t manage a cross-Channel Apparition could effectively use the Black Lake portal,” said Albus. “But it is kept quiet for a number of other reasons. One is that it is powerful enough to allow the transportation of very large objects, which one can’t do with Apparition, and the Ministry would like to keep that quiet. Another is simply for the safety of the creatures living in and around the lake. The Merchieftaness uses it on occasion, apparently, and she will permit the Head of Hogwarts to access it if needed.” “Have you ever used it?” “I tried it out shortly after becoming Headmaster. I was able to travel to Lake Sfânta Ana in the Carpathian Mountains.” “So you believe the squid to be an Animagus because he can use this portal?” “Among other reasons.” “Such as?” Albus glanced around. “This is something I probably shouldn’t reveal. It’s a bit of a Headmaster’s secret.” “If you’d rather not tell me—” “It isn’t that. I’m supposed to be the only one at Hogwarts who knows. Well, along with the Deputy Headmaster. It’s a security measure.” “Oh.” Minerva supposed she shouldn’t feel slighted. She was only a teacher, after all, not his Deputy, or even a Head of House, but she couldn’t help being disappointed that he was reluctant to share something with her. Albus leant across the table to whisper, “But seeing as you’re my wife, I suppose I may be permitted to reveal a few of the school’s secrets to you.” “You really needn’t tell me,” she said. But she hoped he would. He said, “A number of years ago, I took part in the renewal of the foundational wards of Hogwarts, the complex enchantments that protect the school from all but the strongest Dark magic and keep it hidden from Muggles.” She knew about the foundational wards, of course. There was a section about them in Hogwarts: A History, although it was vague on what the wards actually did. “I wasn’t aware they needed renewing,” she said. “I thought they were expected to last for several thousand years.” “They are. But after the Muggle war ended, there were concerns that they wouldn’t withstand some of the weapons Muggles were concocting. Apparently, the founders hadn’t ever anticipated things like the atom bombs the Americans dropped on Japan, or the H-bomb they are supposedly working on. Like many wizards, the founders underestimated Muggle ingenuity. “Armando and I thought it best to try to add new protections to the wards. The work took place in the lake. The squid was … involved.” “In it? With the squid?” He chuckled at her incredulity. “Yes, that was my initial reaction too, but Armando assured me it was necessary. It’s in the Headmaster’s Book, you see. The instructions were written by Rowena Ravenclaw herself—she wrote that any changes to the wards set down by the founders had to be done with the aid of what she called the ‘kraken’ that inhabited the Black Lake, as he was the only creature whose blood could alter the wards.” Minerva shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.” “Neither did I, when I found out about it, but Armando and I did some research. I don’t know with any certainty, but I suspect the squid was instrumental in creating the original wards.” Minerva contemplated this titbit of information, and Albus took the opportunity to down the remainder of his beer. “That makes him more than a thousand years old,” Minerva said. “Yes.” “Even if he is an Animagus, wizards don’t live that long. Even the most powerful don’t live more than than about 200 years,” she said. “No. But I believe that this wizard was very unusual. I believe he may have been Merlin himself.” Sound wasn’t possible. Minerva’s mouth hung open, astonished at what Albus was telling her. “Shall we order dessert, my dear?” Albus asked, as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary. She had so many questions, they all tried to tumble from her mouth at the same time. “How— where– why did he—” Albus smiled at her inability to formulate a coherent sentence. “As you know, there are many legends about the wizard we’ve come to call Merlin. One of them is that he lives backwards in time. I don’t know if there’s any truth to that, but I’m almost positive he made many experiments with temporal magic. “Also, we know that he was enchanted by Nimue, who was a very powerful sorceress herself. She may have … meddled with his lifespan. “It is said that Nimue—or Vivienne, or whatever one wishes to call the witch that so enchanted Merlin—cursed him after persuading him to teach her the magic he had discovered. I believe that, rather than a rock or a tree, as the story has it, she trapped him in his Animagus form and imprisoned him in the Black Lake. She had a special affinitiy for lakes—she was known as The Lady of the Lake, after all.” “And he’s still there? After all this time?” Minerva asked. “Either he has been unable to break her enchantment, or, as I rather suspect, he prefers to live as a squid.” She digested this as Albus picked the last of the tiny canoce from his plate and popped it in his mouth. “Why on earth would he do that?” Minerva asked. Albus patted his lips with his napkin. “He was rather henpecked by Nimue. And he was relentlessly pursued by wizards, witches, kings, villains—everyone wanted him, thanks to his extraordinary talents. I doubt he ever got a moment to be his own man.” Minerva thought Albus could probably empathise with that. He continued, “He seems to live quite contentedly in the Black Lake, among the merpeople and the other aquatic beings. As you’ve seen, he helps watch over the school and its inhabitants. I suspect he is a signifcant part of the reason we have so few serious magical accidents at Hogwarts, at least compared with other schools of magic. His power helps keep the school and her inhabitants safe from all but the Darkest magic.” “And the founders knew about this?” Minerva asked. “I think so. I believe that’s why they sited Hogwarts where they did. Godric Gryffindor was a scholar of Merlin studies. Rowena Ravenclaw spoke Mermish. Between them, they may have been able to communicate with the squid—whoever he actually is—and convinced him to help lend his magic to the school’s protection. “It has been clear to me for some time that the location’s exceptional concentration of magical energy must be due to both the portal and to the presence of an extremely powerful being.” “You are an extremely powerful being,” she reminded him. “I am powerful, yes. But not that powerful. The force of the foundational wards was beyond anything I had imagined. My blood would not have sufficed to create them. I doubt even all the founders’ blood together would have been.” Minerva was about to ask more, but the waiter came by their table just then, inquiring if the signor and signora would be having dessert. Albus looked at Minerva questioningly. “Not for me,” she said. She’d planned on having a bit of something sweet after her meal, but the afternoon’s surprises had quite chased away her appetite. Albus said to the waiter, “No, grazie. Il conto, per favore.” After the waiter has whisked their plates away, he said, “I really shouldn’t have said so much. My thoughts are only hypotheses, after all, and it’s probably best that no one else know. I’ve never spoken of it to anyone.” “I won’t tell anyone,” Minerva said. “I know you won’t, my love.” She thought back to the night he’d confessed his relationship with Gellert Grindelwald. She’d never mentioned it to anyone, even Amelia, and never would. Now, he’d told her something else he’d never told anyone else. Something utterly astonishing. The fact that he trusted her with his deepest secrets warmed her to her core. Albus paid the bill, and they made their way back to the Piazza San Marco, intent on seeing the Doge’s Palace. They took in the courtyard, surrounded by the renaissance façades, and the marble staircase, flanked by the “giants”, the statues of Mars and Neptune that signified to all who entered the palace Venice’s might by both land and sea. Another winged lion stood in the alcove above, guarding the entryway to the Porta della Carta. Minerva enjoyed their tour of the Doge’s apartments, although Albus remarked that he might have trouble sleeping in a room as ornately decorated as the Scarlet Chamber, with its intricately carved ceiling. He was especially fascinated by the maps and giant globes in the Shield Room, while the red and gold of the Grimani Room reminded Minerva of the Gryffindor common room. They moved through room after extravagantly deocrated room—so many that they began to blend together in Minerva’s mind. She found she was tiring and began to be eager to finish their tour. Albus convinced a reluctant Minerva to visit the prisons, where the Doges had kept their enemies. From a narrow door in the courtyard, they entered the terrible damp cells known as the Pozzi. Albus was uncharacteristically silent as they viewed them, then passed through a series of administrative rooms to the newer cells of the Piombi—luxurious by comparison to their older counterparts, but still forbidding. He didn’t even make any remarks when they were shown the cells that had held Casanova. When they re-emerged, the daylight had faded, the sun glowing low above the hills beyond the city. “Are you all right?” Minerva asked him. “Fine, why?” “You’ve been very quiet.” “Just thinking, my dear.” “Did the cells upset you?” He gave her a sad smile. “They just reminded me how terrible prisons are anywhere.” “You’re thinking of Azkaban.” “Yes, among others. It is a truly awful place, Minerva. Although the cells are larger and drier than these, the prisoners are just as wretched as I imagine the Doge’s must have been.” “Because of the dementors.” “Yes. I have tried to persuade the Wizengamot to take up the notion of doing away with them, but so far no luck.” Minerva wondered if Albus was thinking of his father, who had died in Azkaban. She took his hand and squeezed it. “Let’s get a drink,” she said. “That, my dear, is an excellent idea.” The city lamps were just coming on, reflected off the wet stone, giving the piazza a shimmering, almost watercolour-like quality, so they decided to have their cocktail at one of the outdoor cafés that lined the square. The waning day had warmed up a bit, but the air was still brisk. Despite that, the place was beginning to fill with tourists and locals out for a drink before returning home from work. There was a large crowd at the bar, and most of the tables were taken. “Why don’t I get us our drinks while you scout us out a seat,” Albus said. “All right,” she said. “I’ll have a whiskey. Any kind, straight up.” He went off to join the throng at the bar, and Minerva looked around for an open table. “Fancy meeting you here!” Minerva turned and was surprised to see Mary from the train. “Hello,” she said. Mary pulled her coat closer around herself. “We’ve just been to the Doge’s Palace, have you seen it?” “Yes, this afternoon.” “Spectacular, isn’t it?” “Indeed.” Mary put a hand on Minerva’s arm. “I’m glad we ran into one another. I wanted to apologise for Drum on the train the other evening. He can be … outspoken.” “That’s quite all right.” “He means no harm. It’s just that he puts his foot in his mouth sometimes.” This was said with such affection that Minerva had to smile. “Really, it is all right,” she said. Mary laughed heartily. “You managed to shut him up, though, and that’s hard to do.” Minerva felt herself flush. “I’m sorry. I’ve been known to overreact upon occasion.” “Nonsense. It’s good for him to get a taste of his own medicine for a change. Especially when it’s from a woman.” Minerva decided she liked this American. A couple left one of the nearby tables, and Mary gestured to it. “Would you like to sit? Drum’s just gone to get our drinks.” “Albert too. It looks as if they’ll be awhile,” Minerva said, with a glance at the crowd at the bar. They sat, and Mary said, “I take it you’re enjoying your honeymoon?” Her eyes darted to Minerva’s neck, and Minerva had to stop her hand from moving to cover the mark she knew was there from the previous evening’s activities. “Yes. Venice is enchanting.” “Anywhere is enchanting when you’re in love,” Mary said dreamily. “I must admit, Venice has had the most wonderful effect on Drum. We didn’t have a honeymoon, what with the Depression on. And after we married, he was trying so hard to get ahead in his firm, there just wasn’t time for travel. This has been a dream come true, really.” “So you’re having a good time.” “A very good time. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a real vacation. Our youngest just went off to Harvard this fall.” “Congratulations.” Minerva hoped that was the right thing to say. “Thank you,” said Mary. Her expression clouded over a little. “We have an empty nest now. It’s been an adjustment, having just the two of us in the house. I feel like we’re getting to know one another all over again on this trip.” “That can be fun.” “It can be,” Mary said. She looked over at the shadow of St Mark’s in the distance for a moment, and when she turned back to Minerva, she said, “It’s none of my business, I know, but Albert is quite a bit older than you, isn’t he?” Minerva was surprised by the remark, but she reminded herself again that Americans tended to be more forward than what she was used to. “Yes,” she said. She hoped her crisp tone would call an end to this line of conversation. “In a way, I envy you. You knew who your husband was when you married him.” Minerva didn’t say anything for a moment, and Mary said, “Oh, dear. I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn.” “Not at all.” “It’s just that when I married Drum, we were both so young. I was only a year out of college, and Drum had just started at his firm. I had a very romanticised view of marriage.” Minerva found herself interested despite herself. “In what way?” “Oh, I suppose I thought it would be like going steady, only he wouldn’t leave me at my door with just a good-night kiss, if you know what I mean.” She laughed, and Minerva couldn’t help laughing too. “I take it the reality was somewhat different,” Minerva said. “Yes. It’s different being with someone all the time, in private.” It surprised Minerva, a little, to hear Mary express the same misgivings she, Minerva, had had. “I suppose it is,” she said. “It was like being thrown in with a stranger. For Drum, too, I think. And then Johnny came along a year later, and, well, suddenly it seemed like I was juggling four little children, and between the diapers and the feedings and the doctor visits, I barely remembered I even had a name other than ‘Mama.’ I feel as if Drum and I didn’t really get to know one another until a few years ago, when our youngest went to high school.” “It sounds difficult.” “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I just wish it had all happened a little later.” She laughed suddenly. “Golly, what you must think of me! I guess this trip just has me thinking about the past and all the might-have-beens.” “Might-have-beens?” “Oh, nothing, really,” said Mary. “Just me being silly. I’ve been so lucky to be married to a man like Drum.” Minerva looked over to the bar where Drum was still waiting for drinks. Albus was standing near him. Mary followed her gaze. “Your Albert seems like a nice fellow.” Minerva smiled. “Yes, he is.” “Have you been courting long?” Before she could think, Minerva said, “He was my teacher.” Mary’s thinly plucked eyebrows rose. “He was?” “He taught Tr— he taught the same subject I teach now.” “And you fell in love with him when you were a girl?” Minerva supposed she should have been uncomfortable with the conversation, but oddly, she felt like talking with this stranger who’d spoken so candidly. Minerva had never discussed her history with Albus with anyone else, even Amelia. But this woman didn’t know Minerva McGonagall at all—didn’t even know her real name—and that made it feel safer. Minerva said, “He was my first love. My first lover. Is that shocking?” “No,” said Mary. “Not unless … well … naturally, it wasn’t as if …” Minerva just looked at her, trying to keep the smile from her lips. Mary’s eyes widened in surprise, and she leant forward. “Really?” Minerva gave a small nod. Mary sat back, a satisfied grin on her face. “Well, isn’t that interesting! And you’ve only just gotten married now?” “We were apart for some years. Then I came back to work at his school.” “Because you were in love with him?” “No.” But that wasn’t entirely true, Minerva had to admit to herself. “Well … yes, but I wanted to teach.” “And you got married.” “Yes.” “And is it everything you hoped for?” “I’m not sure I hoped for anything in particular. I just wanted to be with him,” she said. “I want to be with him.” “I see.” Minerva stiffened. She was somehow disappointed to think that this matronly, middle-aged American might make assumptions about her. “What?” “Oh, I meant no offence,” said Mary. “It’s just that I sometimes wonder if marriage is the end-all-be-all that it’s cracked up to be. You meet someone when you’re young, you fall in love, you get married, and that’s supposed to be it, forever.” She looked over at Minerva. “For some people, it is, of course.” Minerva watched Mary watch the pigeons picking at the crumbs just outside the wrought-iron bars that edged the café’s seating area. “I hope my daughter doesn’t marry too young,” Mary said wistfully. “Better she should have some love affairs first.” Minerva said nothing, and Mary said, “Now I’ve shocked you.” “Not at all. I wish I could give my students the same advice.” “That would get you some interesting telephone calls from parents, I’ll bet.” “I shudder to think.” “And did you? Have other love affairs?” Mary asked. “A few.” There was a moment of silence, then Mary gave a barking laugh. “And I thought the Scots were supposed to be so straight-laced!” “We have to do something to keep warm on all those cold, northern evenings.” “Boston gets pretty cold too. Sometimes I have to remind Drum that there are ways to keep warm other than long johns.” They both laughed. A voice interrupted them. “There you are.” Drum and Albus had come up to the table, each carrying two drinks. “I ran into Albert here at the bar, and I was going to surprise you, but I see you two found each other,” Drum said, setting his drinks down. “Yes. We found a table, so we took it,” said Mary. “Your whiskey,” Albus said, handing Minerva her drink. He took a seat next to her, and Drum followed suit. “And what were you two hens talking about that had you in stitches?” Drum asked. “Boys,” said Mary. “Mary just dotes on our boys,” Drum said. “We have three. Of course, Katie is the apple of my eye. My one and only daughter. She’s in nursing school up in Vermont. I was pushing for U Mass or Northeastern, of course, but she wanted to go farther away.” “You must be very proud,” said Albus. “I am. All our kids have flown the coop, so Mary’s been a little down in the dumps lately, haven’t you, honey?” “Oh, Drum …” “That’s only natural. Or shouldn’t I be talking about kids? Is it a sore subject?” he asked Minerva with a wink. “Not at all,” said Minerva. “Albert and I like children very much. We do live at a school, after all.” “Bet you’re glad to get away, though.” “I’m glad to be anywhere with Albert,” Minerva said, and put her hand on Albus’s. He masked his look of surprise and drew her hand up to kiss it. She thought she saw the glint of moisture in his eyes. “I’ll say it again, you’re a lucky man,” said Drum. “’Course, I am too.” He put an arm around Mary’s shoulder and squeezed, almost making his wife spill her wine. “Yes, here we are: two lucky fellas, enjoying this beautiful city with a couple of beautiful girls. It doesn’t get much better than this.” “It certainly doesn’t,” agreed Albus. The quartet enjoyed their drinks and chatted about what they’d seen that day and about their sightseeing plans for the next. They parted with well wishes all around, which Minerva found she meant. Minerva and Albus returned to the pensione for a wash before dinner. They decided to eat at a restaurant in the Dorsoduro that Albus said Horace had once raved about. The meal was indeed excellent, but they both resisted the temptation to have more than a glass of wine each. When they finished, they made their way slowly through the Campo Santa Margherita, which was filled with young people standing in groups, smoking, talking and laughing in the clear, cold night. As Minerva and Albus passed into the Calle de la Chiesa, Minerva noticed a sign proclaiming, “Danza!” in bright blue lights. On impulse, she tugged on Albus’s arm. He looked at her questioningly, and she said, “Dancing.” “You want to go dancing?” “Why not?” “I’m not much of a dancer.” “Nonsense. I’ve seen you dance.” “When?” “At the Ministry Ball after the war. And in my fourth year. The Yule Ball. You danced with Professor Merrythought and Professor Fancourt. And the Head Girl. Whose name escapes me at the moment.” “I cannot believe you remember that.” “Of course I remember. You were the handsomest wizard on the floor, and I wanted desperately to be dancing with you rather than Nigel Ackerley. You danced perfectly well.” “Those were traditional dances. I suspect this will be somewhat different.” “Maybe, but I’ll show you,” said Minerva. “You know how to do the modern dances?” “Oh, yes. Amelia and I used to go out in Muggle London sometimes. We even sneaked into a NAAFI canteen in Piccadilly once.” “NAAFI?” “Navy, Army, and Air Force Institutes. They ran canteens and things for the armed forces during and after the Muggle war. The soldiers and sailors were ever so accommodating.” A chuckle rumbled through his body. “I imagine they were.” “A Royal Canadian airman even taught me to Lindy Hop.” “You are full of surprises.” She pulled him towards the door of the club. “Come on. It will be fun.” “If you insist.” The club was tiny, dark, and very smoky, and they made their way to a small table near the band, which comprised a female singer, a pianist, a bass player, and a saxophone. It was loud, and she could barely hear Albus when he leant over the table to say, “I think I’m too old for this place.” Minerva just smiled. They ordered a pair of Americanos, and as they sipped, they watched the couples on the dance floor. Minerva leant over the table and said, “See? It isn’t too complicated. I’m sure you could manage.” “I’m willing to try for you, my dear, but don’t be surprised if I tread on your toes.” “I’ll cast a Duro on them, then. I learned to do it wandlessly after a few nights out with those servicemen.” She waited until the band launched into a medium-tempo Italian tune, then stood, holding out her hand to him. “Come.” They took to the floor, and Albus put an uncertain palm on her waist. “Closer.” She pulled on him until their upper bodies were pressed together. He was tense at first, barely shuffling his feet, then he relaxed into the rhythm of the music and moved with it. “You see?” Minerva said. “It’s not so difficult.” “Yes, but I’m not entirely sure you aren’t leading,” he said, and she laughed. She felt him relax further as the Italian song gave way to the slower rhythm of a song Minerva recognised as “How Long Has This Been Going On?” Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and felt his lips brush the top of her head. The singer’s voice purred, her heavy Italian accent somehow making the American song sound even more sensual: “There were chills up my spine And some thrills I can't define Listen sweet, I repeat How long has this been going on?” Their knees hit, and he said, “I warned you I wasn’t very good at this.” “You’re doing perfectly well.” “But not as well as your Canadian airman.” “Perhaps not. But much better than Nigel Ackerley.” “Poor Nigel.” “Don’t feel too sorry for him. He got his kiss goodnight.” “Did he?” She felt his lips at her ear. “And will I?” he whispered, the sensation of his breath raising goosebumps on her skin. “That remains to be seen, Mr White,” she said. She hummed along with the song’s chorus: “Kiss me once, then once more What a dunce I was before What a break, for heaven's sake How long has this been going on?” Albus’s hand slid a little lower on her waist, and they danced on. ← Back to Chapter 3 On to Chapter 5→ Category:Blog posts Category:Chapters of Till 'A the Seas Gang Dry